They Call This Throbbing Love
by Mr Bellatrix Lestrange
Summary: "A casual beat being skipped was not a problem. The pitter-patter when he had made Remus laugh was nothing. But this... throbbing; this was the kind of throb that hurt with the intensity it produced." One-sided puppy love.


**A/N: For the 2012 Hogwarts Games. Thanks to MissingMommy for the educational beta. To Laura, for the one-sided puppy love. **

Remus John Lupin. Prefect of Gryffindor House. Suck-up among teachers, who studied his heart out even when there wasn't an exam. An addict of chocolaty substances and butterbeer, possibly _just_ due to the fact they were unhealthy. A prize, really, to any little lady that would have him.

Oblivious too, that was a key. Naïve, and slightly innocent. But it was unnatural for one to commingle with the Marauders for so long and _not_ pick up a habit or two. Sweet talking the teachers with his plethora of pleading, exonerating them with his candied excuses.

Co-creator of the Marauder's Map.

Werewolf—but only once a month.

To Sirius, he was more than just what met the eye. He was a man who could make even the daunting task of potion-making look sexy; flaunting his talents with a knife like no man had the right to. His hands, so delicate and fluttery, spindling a silky web that got Sirius all choked up. His precision whilst stirring three times clockwise, six times anticlockwise, and three times clockwise was unfathomable. And somehow it dropped a knot in Sirius's stomach that had nothing to do with the jars of swimming, glassy eyeballs watching them from the walls.

Sirius saw Remus—sometimes (and mostly) known as Moony, but only by those closest to him—as more than just a shy boy who liked to curl up with a book and let the world fly over his head. He saw Remus sitting there on a brilliant spring afternoon and figured there really was no other way to look pleasant than with a hand curled in his hair and his knees brought up to his chest.

He saw this young man in his tattered robes.

Sometimes his parents just struggled to put food on the table.

But the depths of those ragged pockets, full of quills and smelling of candy were just so uniquely _him_. And that undeniable scent of parchment, ink blots littering his arms, was like a perfume Sirius had come to identify with words like "home." His sun bleached brown hair, pulled loosely into a pony-tail trailing down against his shoulder. Well, it was simply begging to have hands run through it, wasn't it?

It was no secret that those eyes held such a promise, golden like streams of sunlight leaking into the dark. And they had forced Sirius to give in on several occasions. Though, for Remus, anything was fine.

Tea-drinker and toast-eater. Strictly an all fruits, no vegetables guy. But it was rare of him to complain no matter what the circumstance—extreme or minor. And Sirius wondered how the man managed to put up with him.

At breakfast, Remus would just sit there across from his friends and drink in the morning. He would never be found hastily doing some last minute homework atop the bacon and egg platters. However, he'd been talked in to giving some last minute answers as a result.

Everywhere seemed to be accommodated for him—like the way he lay on the red couch in the common room… It was something that set the thrumming of Sirius's heartstrings on overload. He'd stretch his full form along it, his arms over his head and his feet dangling off the arm of the seat. Sometimes his leg would poke out of his trousers and Sirius would catch a glimpse of the wispy copper strands residing there. For some reason, seeing any part of Remus that wasn't designated for public was very sensual.

The same went for his scars.

All turtlenecks and long sleeves. Every day. The kind of thing that never aroused suspicion because it went so unnoticed. A pity, really. But Remus wasn't a wave-maker; he didn't startle the calm. He'd often told Sirius that he startled enough of it for the both of them. But Sirius liked his scars, liked counting them the mornings after a full-moon.

Forty-four.

And he was sure Remus never knew that he did.

Remus was content with just sitting out the problems, the conflicts, of life. Yet he had a store of witty logic and smart comebacks to ease the journey. It really amazed Sirius that such a humble person could have such a fiery tongue.

But the manner in which he did things... It was all so different to see. It was something that sparked thoughts aside from brotherly or friendly things. And it happened to Sirius. All the time.

Sirius wondered just when his heart had started throbbing.

A casual beat being skipped was not a problem. The pitter-patter when he had made Remus laugh was nothing. But this... throbbing; this was the kind of throb that hurt with the intensity it produced. And it knocked Sirius off his element, swooped him right off his high-horse with the shock of it. Because nothing like this had ever occurred. Nothing like this had ever affected Sirius to the greatest extent.

For that alone reason, it scared him.

And for one of the first times ever, he didn't know what to do.

What _was_ it he was feeling? What was this throbbing?

This throbbing... they called it love, right?

Yes, they call it love.


End file.
